In the Year of Mortals
by evelynsgrave84
Summary: [Miracle] 1979 offered Herb Brooks an irresistible opportunity to soothe the memories of 1960. Along the way, he must also try to mend his estranged relationship with his headstrong daughter. DISCONTINUED.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: The rights to Miracle belong to Disney and their fellow associates. The fanfic is in **NO WAY** intended for profiting (at least monetarily). This is **ONLY** a fanfic that I have decided to dedicate time and thought into. I do however own my main protagonist, Jo Evans. 

Author's note: I must admit that I have a penchant for the same idea that other writers have conveyed so far: Herb Brook's daughter tags along with the U.S. team and falls in love with one of the players. How else would you incorporate romance into this movie fanfic! Okay, so there have been other creative romantic entanglements in other fics. However, this whole fanfic is more focused on the strained father-daughter relationship, and is also an introspective examination of their characters as the journey progresses. Plenty of drama, and yes…there will some romance.

**PROLOGUE**

The bleak rain-soaked images of St. Paul slowly came into focus as Jo Evans awoke from her slumber. The weather indeed was not particularly encouraging or appealing to her semi-conscious state. The temptation to drift back into sleep, however, was tempered by the loud monotonous hum of the engine on pavement.

"Slept well, huh?" asked the cab driver. He chuckled as his sleepy passenger only replied with an unintelligible moan.

"Look like you needed it," he commented good-naturedly. "Don't blame you though. Cabs seats are usually more comfortable than plane seats."

"How long have I been out?" Jo asked as she stifled a yawn and struggled to sit up.

"About forty-five minutes. Just in time too. The U ought to be around the corner twenty minutes from here."

Jo blinked confusedly. "The U?"

"University of Minnesota," he clarified. "Best damn hockey team in my mind."

The cab driver examined his passenger more closely through the overhead mirror. "You must be out-of-state, huh?" he surmised. "A New-Englander, judging from your accent."

"New York born and raised," Jo replied and grinned.

The cab driver laughed. "Anywhere's fine with me. It might be best to keep it to yourself though if you're from Massachusetts. Well, if you're from Boston really."

"Any particular reason?"

"There's many, actually, but it mainly comes down to hockey," he explained. "Minnesota's been rivals with Boston University's Terriers for a long time. Course, it got pretty ugly in 76' national playoffs, with all the broken bones and egos you can imagine. The U managed to win in the end, but that coach of theirs though – the driver whistled – really something, that man. Some of his players still call him 'Satan of Ice.'"

"You don't say," said Jo dryly. She stretched momentarily before adding, "Makes him sound real personal, doesn't it?"

The driver only shrugged. "Just what I heard," he defended lightly. "I don't personally know the man. Then again, maybe it doesn't make much of a difference to many. Or at least not with three championship titles under his belt. Maybe those who know him more personally might give different opinions."

Jo offered no reply as he made his last statement a little too casually. Her rigid posture and avoiding eyes, however, provided him enough cues of some familiarity with the man (bitter familiarity, on more careful observation). The uncomfortable silence that followed did more than enough to dissuade him from pursuing the matter. The driver shrugged and quickly returned his eyes from the overhead mirror to the road.

"It's gonna be a hell of a time for that U.S. team he's coaching," he continued. "Best of luck to him in dealing with those damn Soviets. Well, … if his team ever makes it that far."

"Our professional players could barely skate by the third period a few months ago, and he wants to have these college kids face the Reds head on," the driver shook his head incredulously.

"Really something, that coach," he repeated, with some hint of admiration.

Jo smiled tautly. "You have no idea," she muttered and slouched back.


	2. Awkward Beginnings

Disclaimer: The rights to Miracle belong to Disney and their fellow associates. The fanfic is in **NO WAY** intended for profiting (at least monetarily). This is **ONLY** a fanfic that I have decided to dedicate time and thought into. I do however own my main protagonist, Jo Evans.

Author's Note: First off, I would like to personally thank meadow567, Bellalou, Klinoa, Emador, Lia06, and killerkeanegirl for taking the time to read and review. As this is my first web-posted fanfic, that means a lot to me. I forgot to offer fair warning that I'm a novice writer. Anyways, as most or all of you guessed it, Jo Evans is indeed related to Herb. Their history won't be revealed until later down the story, but not too long. It'll give people some fun to speculate till then! On another note, I'm a full-time college student, so my updates will be on an irregular basis. Till then, enjoy and please review!

**CHAPTER ONE**

**_August 1979_**

Herb Brooks crumpled yet another paper and tossed it carelessly onto the growing pile at the base of his desk, a clear sign of his frustration. For the last hour or so, a tricky but extremely clever Soviet strategy had dominated his mind. The challenge of finding a counter play had brought about a boyish enthusiasm earlier, but even that had begun to wane by the twelfth failed idea.

The impatient tapping of his pen was suddenly interrupted by louder knocks. "It's open," he called out absently, still engrossed with the sheet of paper.

"Hey, Herb," greeted his assistant coach, Craig Patrick.

"Craig," Herb nodded his head slightly in acknowledgement.

Though Craig was very much used to Brook's informal ways by now, he still felt awkward at times. His superior must have picked up on the man's sense of urgency, for Herb finally looked up to give his assistant his undivided attention.

"There was …another … disagreement," Craig finished hesitantly. Another thing that he was well used to by now was the Minnesotan's unpredictable temper.

Sure enough, Herb Brooks didn't fail to disappoint as his face quickly took on a displeased expression. Herb took off his glasses and asked in annoyed resignation, "So who did _he_ disagree with this time?"

"Apparently with Avery."

"That god-damned kid," cursed Herb vehemently. "Two months already, and the only thing he's been using more than his hockey stick is HIS FISTS!"

Craig wisely remained silent during Herb's long tirade, cringing then and again at the more explicit content. "This kid is gonna wear me out, Craig," Herb sighed exasperatedly. "He keeps this up, and I just might voluntarily hang myself."

"You want me to handle this?" offered Craig.

"No, just send him to my office tomorrow afternoon," said Herb. "I'll deal with him then." The day had been long enough as it was, and he wasn't keen about tackling with another hockey player.

"Okay," Craig replied simply and turned to leave.

"So who won?" Herb called out, as Craig closed the door halfway.

"Tough to say," Craig's voice took on a neutral tone. He couldn't, however, keep his growing grin in check. "Avery's sporting a black eye. O.C.'s mouth is bleeding. Neither of them has gotten off the floor, last time I checked."

Herb rolled his eyes and waited until Craig left to allow an escaped low chuckle. Boys would always be boys. But even that statement took on new interest in the constant clash between Minnesotan pride and Boston cockiness. True, the situation was a far cry from the outbreak of the first practice. Nonetheless, that comfort, if it was ever warranted as one, did not ease Herb's reservations about the team selection that he made.

He turned his attention back to the ink-stained sheet on his desk. Just as he was about to sketch, the telephone rang and interrupted his thoughts.

"Hello?" Herb sighed impatiently into the phone.

"Herb," he was admonished by a familiar feminine voice.

"I was on my way out, Patty," Herb spoke quickly. "And before you ask, yes, I know where Kelly's ballet studio is. I've got the directions written out."

"And as wonderful as that is, Herb, Kelly's friend is giving her a ride home," reminded Patty. "You're supposed to pick her up next week."

Herb's brows furrowed. "Oh. So then …?"

"You were, _however_, supposed to pick up someone else," Patty spoke. "This morning, if you will recall."

"What? Patty, I think you've gotten this mixed up. I have tomorrow morning off. Her flight comes in tomorrow."

"No, Herb," corrected his wife. "The arrival was _today_. I even have it labeled on the fridge."

Herb stared blankly at the phone before letting out a low breath as recognition hit him….HARD. "Oh, boy," he muttered and ran a hand through his hair.

"Herb,…"

"I know, I know," he interrupted hastily. "It was very careless of me."

"Herb, you ..."

"Honey, I've really got to leave right now," he cut her off again as he hastily gathered the papers. "We'll talk later tonight, so don't wait up for me for dinner."

"Herb, she's already at campus!" Patty exclaimed before her husband could hang up. "She took a cab earlier and is already settled at the dorm."

"So why wasn't I informed earlier?" demanded her husband.

"The information didn't arrive until ten minutes ago," Patty explained wryly. "Apparently, she didn't want to 'trouble' you that morning."

Herb groaned inwardly and slumped back into his chair. The day, in his mind, couldn't get progressively worse as it had at that moment. Patty luckily decided to take pity on him. "Herb, it's too late to ponder over this," she said sympathetically. "I'm sure if you explain, the misunderstanding can be resolved. She's residing in Morrison's Dormitory, Room 323."

"Maybe now wouldn't be the best time," he chuckled nervously. "I could…..you know…a day or two."

"Herb, this can't wait," said Patty firmly. "You both decided on this arrangement for a reason. Avoiding her isn't exactly communicating well now, is it?"

"No," Herb sighed. "So…how did she sound?" he asked warily.

"Perfectly calm and normal, actually" replied Patty. "I may or may not have picked up on some hidden sarcasm, but overall, I think we have a talented actress in our hands."

Herb sighed again. "Alright, I'll see you later tonight," he promised, absently massaging his aching head. "So what was for dinner?"

"Your chicken and potatoes will be warm when you get back," she laughed.

"Alright," smiled Herb. "Kiss the kids goodnight for me."

"I will," Patty said in sing-song voice. "Oh, and Herb," she added just as he was about to hang up, "try to make a good _second_ impression."

* * *

"Not too bad," murmured Jo. 

The New Yorker took a further step back to admire her handiwork. Upon arrivingthat morning, Jo had found the double-occupant dorm room rather bland and sparse with its paint-worn walls and simple wooden furniture. At the present, it resembled nothing more than a cluttered mess of boxes, books, and clothes randomly spread about, but it radiated comfort. So far, the only décor she had up was the assembled collage of world architecture on the wall above her desk.

Very loud knocks soon broke into her thoughts. Loud, not surprisingly, due to the resonating volume from the radio. Jo cautiously made her way through the clutter and opened the door ……...

Herb stood a bit awkwardly before greeting her with an equally awkward "Hi."

"Hi," Jo replied a bit flatly, with a half-hearted wave.

More than an eternity's worth of silence passed by as both remained rooted, unsure and hesitant. To a casual standby, the scene would appear to be of one between two strangers. And yet, the observation would oddly enough be accurate in its reflection.

"So…can I..?" Herb gestured mildly.

"Sure," Jo replied calmly, and opened the door wider. "You'll have to excuse the mess."

Herb didn't respond, opting instead tosurvey her room. Jo went about and continued unpacking in companionable silence. From the corner of her eye, she could amusedly make out Herb wincing slightly from the heavy music. "The Clash," she explained at the look of his blatant curiosity.

"I can see that," Herb winced again. "Of what?"

"No, it's the band. They're called The Clash."

"They decided to go for accuracy then?" he joked lightly. Jo smiled weakly and preoccupied herself with organizing her books.

Herb picked up a random one. "Principles of Fluid Dynamics," he read out. "Some light reading?"

Jo shrugged. "Depends on what you classify as 'light' in mechanical engineering."

Herb only nodded and glanced through the rest of her books. The thickness and titles of some of them made him raised his eyebrows. "So, …how's Howard?"

"Fine," Jo answered, struggling to keep her voice impassive. "Or last I heard."

"And your flight?"

"Long," she replied curtly. Jo shelved another book before asking bluntly, "Are you just here for small talk?"

Herb grimaced and exhaled softly. "Jo, I … I wanted to apologize for this morning. I had mistakenly thought your flight would come in tomorrow."

Instead of the expected disappointment or irritation, Herb only received a blank, controlled expression. "I got here, didn't I?" she said lightly.

"Besides," she smiled, though maybe a bit forcefully, "you've got the Olympics to worry about."

Herb was rendered momentarily speechless. His gut instincts immediately told him that her simple words didn't convey the whole truth. On the other hand, he wasn't exactly willing to experience any more uncomfortable moments. Herb simply left it at that.

"Alright,…well, I actually stopped by to also hand you this," he took out a folded sheet. "It's a list of useful contacts, campus sites, my office number just in case you want to talk. There's … um….also a map to the house, if you ever decide to visit or eat over."

"Can't say it won't come in handy," she answered truthfully. "Thanks," she added with what appeared to be a genuine smile this time.

Herb smiled in return. Just as he turned to leave, a lone picture frame on her desk had caught his attention. More specifically, the photograph within the frame intrigued him. Its liveliness was etched in face of the light-haired beauty leaning over a steamboat railing in reckless abandon. Her eyes conveyed a nature of playful mischievousness, and yetharbored tints of deep desolation.

"Ten years ago," replied Jo at Herb's object of interest. "It was on a ferry ride from Manhattan."

Herb forced himself to swallow the bobbing lump in his throat. _Still hadn't changed even then, huh, Meg_, he thought sadly. He turned his attention away from the printed, lively eyes to a similar lively pair that slightly hardened with resentment.

Jo gestured towards her unkempt room. "I still have some unpacking."

"Right," said Herb understandably. "I'll…see you around."

"Goodnight, Herb," Jo said quietly, and turned back to continue unpacking. Herb Brooks proceeded towards the door just as quietly. Halfway out, he caught afinal glimpse of his sheet that his daughter left on a corner of her bed, unfolded and ignored.

* * *

Author's Post-Note: I hope this fic doesn't seem too boring so far, but I promise that the romance will be coming sometime in the next chapter or so. I haven't decided who to pair Jo up with (temporary/ permanently), but I will promise to try to write it in a way that prompts constant guessing. 


	3. Of Bargains and Begots

Disclaimer: The rights to Miracle belong to Disney and their fellow associates. Blah, blah, blah, ...

Author's Note: Hey, thanks for all the reviews so far! I would love to respond individually to your reviews, but this chapter is long as it is. So long, that I had to cut an additional scene off. To quickly answer your question, **Lia06**, Jo is Herb's daughter. Sorry if the last sentence of chapter 1 wasn't more apparent. I can't guarantee that she'll end up with Johnson, but he does need a girl! LOL. However, I will hook him up with someone if it turns out that way. Enjoy the chapter!

**CHAPTER TWO**

The frustrations of registration kept Jo mainly preoccupied during the following week. Being a civil engineer major certainly didn't guarantee a light schedule, and even more soin face of the engineering department's distinguished reputation. Thankfully, her sanity was spared time to time with phone calls and letters from her boyfriend, Vince Michaels. He lent her a much needed sympathetic ear and humor.

On a happier note, Jo was very fortunate to have found a spunky, agreeable roommate in Beth Trentford. The petite Journalism major had moved into the dorm on Jo's third day in Minnesota, and both got along right away with talks ranging from bands to politics. Jo found it more difficult to converse, however, when the auburn-haired junior spoke freely about her family and life in St. Paul. Her roommate, as keen and curious as a journalist ought to be, fortunately refrained from inquiring more than necessary.

Jo was only too happy to oblige as she wasn't willing to publicly associate herself with Herb quite yet. His occasional calls brought about a mix of anxiety and discomfort. They felt too strained – too forced on many instances in the guise of cheerfulness. On her part, Jo made little effort to decline dinner invitations. Only when excuses ran low and guilt caught up did the she felt obliged to dine the following Friday.

"Don't you have an appointment?" Beth raised an eyebrow as Jo collapsed face-down on her bed.

"I'm canceling it," replied a muffled Jo. Her body was heaving with exertion from the day's activities. The first week of school seemed to drag on with the sleep-inducing lectures and lab commitments. If not for the decent pay for lab work, Jo would've found other means to pay off her tuition by now.

"Again? I can't wait to see what the excuse is this time."

"I'm sure you'll find something decent to pass off," said Jo.

Beth chuckled. "Ohhhh no," she declined. "The messenger's not going to take the heat in this instance, especially not from a demanding hockey coach."

"So plead the fifth," retorted Jo.

"Forget it," said Beth firmly. "Even I've heard enough about Herb Brooks to think twice about declining on someone's behalf."

Beth ignored Jo's dramatic groan and snuggled deeper into her pillows. Jo grudgingly got up after a bit and picked up her book bag. "You're actually going out like that?" Beth asked.

Jo shrugged tiredly. "Why not? It's just a dinner at Herb's."

Beth raised an eyebrow quirkily, as if she had just proven her point. "There's not much I can improve in thirty minutes," Jo pointed out. "Besides, I've got to head to Iverson Hall to pick up some books on the way."

"At least put on another shirt," suggested Beth. "You're practically drenched in sweat!"

Jo sighed at her roommate's soft insistence, but decided to oblige her by switching into a short sleeved black shirt. It was a bit short, Beth noticed, as the shirt barely reached the top hem of her jeans. Any slight movement would definitely reveal the pierced belly button – an image she was sure to raise some kind of reaction from Herb Brooks. Just exactly what kind reaction, she wasn't quite as sure, as Jo's relationship to the man remained purposely vague.

"So,…," Beth inquired casually, "is Herb actually a family friend? Or..?"

"He's an acquaintance," Jo answered abruptly. "Barely."

Beth took the subtle hint and picked up a book. "Acquaintance or not, I doubt he'd want to see that cute belly button of yours."

Jo gave off a rude gesture (to which Beth cheerfully returned) and checked her appearance for a final time. While she was a far cry from the tall gawky girl at fifteen, she lacked the envious curves of her peers. Jo had often lamented in the past in the unfortunates of not inheriting her mother's petite frame or golden-tinted beauty. Traces of her mother still lingered though in her eyes and facial features. Her dark brown hair, however, resembled her father's.

"Later," Jo called out as she headed out the door.

* * *

Doc Nagobads grunted unrestrainedly as the heavy box of medical supplies began to take its toll on his spine. Thankfully, another pair of arms reached out in time to relieve him some of the stress. Together, they managed to set it on the bedstead. 

"Thank you," he gasped with a slight accent. "I'm getting too old for physical labor."

"No problem," Jo replied easily.

Doc's face lighted up with recognition. "You must be Jo, correct?" He added a laugh at witnessing her surprised expression. "Herb's been telling me about you for some time," he explained. "Of course, I've never really seen you, but I know enough by now that young women don't often come to the rink."

"Oh," mumbled Jo. She clearly hadn't expected Herb to mention about her. "Well, it's nice to meet to you, Dr….?"

"Nagobads," supplied Doc. "Just Doc will do."

"Alright, _Doc_," Jo smiled. "Care to tell me where I can find Herb?"

"He's on the rink at the moment, but I can walk you there," gestured Doc. "He should be done soon."

Conversing along the way to the rink, Jo found the Latvian doctor to possess a cheerful disposition combined with a healthy dose of humor. He endeared to her as a strong grandfatherly figure, and for once, she felt at ease with a stranger.

"Will you also be attending university this spring?" he inquired.

"I'm not sure," replied Jo hesitantly as they reached the open entrance. "I'll guess I'll have to see how the fall goes."

She couldn't continue to voice her thoughts, as the distinct echoes of clanging puck and hocking sticks immediately filtered through their ears. "You think he'll mind if I come in right now?" Jo asked, a little louder.

"WHAT THE HELL KIND OF MOVE WAS THAT?" an irritated voice hollered. Even their limited contact throughout the years didn't prevent Jo from recognizing Herb's voice.

"This is HOCKEY, gentlemen, NOT GOLF ON ICE! You want to remain on the team - start playing the sport correctly!"

Jo glanced resignedly at Doc. "So, where's his office?"

* * *

Apparently, the concept of time seemed foreign in St. Paul, or at least to Herb Brooks. For the last twenty minutes, she had memorized the more obscure details of the room out of boredom. Jo perceived wryly that somehow this was far from the first extended practice. 

The New Yorker impatiently checked the time yet again. _Punctual for a disciplinarian, aren't you?_ thought Jo, sardonically.

She decided to walk about and stretch. Upon reaching the left desk corner, a simple picture frame caught her eye. The photograph gave off a formal appearance, judging from the appropriate attire of the family. Jo amusedly noted that only Patty's smile appeared genuine in the mist of the discomfort that the rest of her family struggled to hide. Despite that, the photograph conveyed the intimacy of family life rather well. It filled Jo with a surprising surge of emptiness and envy.

"It took about five tries before Patty was satisfied."

Jo looked up to find a relaxed Herb regarding her from the door. "The kids weren't too thrilled," he chuckled. "Kelly was also running a cold that day, too."

She couldn't help but crack a small smile at the fatherly sentiment. It was much preferable anyhow than the dictatorship he displayed on the ice. "I've been there before," Jo agreed.

Just as quickly, the awkwardness settled back in. In a weird way, Herb and Jo took comfort in the familiar discomfort over the years that developed into second nature. Jo averted her eyes to the photograph. "Dan and Kelley look very well," Jo complimented. Then, "I think I'd like to meet them," she said quietly.

"They're great kids," he said proudly. "All of them," he followed, eyeing her intently.

Jo shifted uncomfortably. Her eyes, though, took on a complex expression – an odd mix of detached gratification and strong distrust. In many ways, those eyes startled Herb, even concerned him close to many times with its piercing intensity.

The contact broke off when the phone rang. "Hello," answered Herb wearily. "Hi, Walter," his expression relaxed. "Hold on a minute."

"I'll phone Patty," Jo offered before Herb could make his request.

"Thirty minutes," Herb nodded his thanks. "I'll meet you at the front entrance."

Jo picked up her bag, leaving Herb to resume his conversation. She proceeded out the door – only to collide with a bulky figure. "Sorry," she said out of habit. "I mean, excuse me."

It was hard to make out the guy underneath all the padding and heavy gear. He didn't seem too bothered, though. On the contrary, he seemed rather….curious. "Not at all," the hockey player shot her arather appreciative grin.

"Schneider!" barked Herb.

The athlete quickly waved to his coach and went off, well aware of Herb's burning glare. For the time, his curiosities would have to remain unanswered. He couldn't resist, however, giving the girl a final grin before disappearing around the corner.

* * *

"So, what did Herb say?" Rizzo asked as nonchalantly as possible. 

"Herb doesn't say as much as he lectures," scoffed O.C. He leaned down to unlace his skates. "He's given me a warning," O.C. said quietly enough for Silky and Rizzo. "Pretty much said that I'll find myself in Boston, if I don't shape up."

"You better start off apologizing then," remarked Silky.

"Like hell," spat O.C. "Auge had it coming. I'm not going out of my way to kiss his sorry ass."

"You're making real progress, Jack," Jimmy commented dryly. "In fact, just as much progress as we're making with Herb."

O.C. kicked his skates off in annoyance. "Boys, Herb was _born_ as a big pain-in-the-ass, _is_ a big pain-in-the-ass, and will likely _die_ as a big pain-in the ass. That's the progress right there, Jim."

"He's definitely not the biggest one," Mac muttered, though audibly enough. Bah and a few other Minnesotans joined in the snickers.

Predictably, O.C. started to rise from the bench. Rizzo immediately pressed him down. "C'mon, man," he hissed. "You're not gonna start _that_ again!"

"Piss off," his friend snarled, shrugging off Rizzo's hand.

"Jack," warned Silky. His voice was low but commanding enough to bring O.C. reluctantly to his senses. As far as Rizzo could remember, Silky and O.C. had developed this inexplicable bond. O.C. was the only person successful at bringing out Silky's more sociable qualities while Silky was practically the only one capable enough to calm and convey reason to his hotheaded friend.

It was impressive, to say the least, that both Mac and O.C. had managed a civil, if not cool stance towards one another since the fight. The tension between them, however, remained intact. And while it was never implied, it was the obvious factor that left the team still regionally divided.

"What's up, boys?" Buzz called out cheerfully as he entered.

"Buzzey," greeted Rizzo, along with others. "Took you long enough," he teased.

"You were also dragging your feet after those Herbies," retorted Buzz. "I didn't see you volunteer to carter off the equipment."

"Nope, I guess you're just too damn nice for your own good," Rizzo replied cheekily, earning himself rolled eyes from Buzz.

"Hey Mac, do you know if Herb's got other relatives living nearby?" asked Buzz.

"Not as far as I know of," Mac replied as he pulled on a shirt. "Why? I thought you'd be the one know – you live in his neighborhood."

"Well, either he's got a distant niece, or the Olympic Committee's suddenly decided to include girls in our sport," Buzz announced, shrugging off his pads.

Buzz was delighted when his words brought about the desired effect. A few of his teammates paused what they were doing. Mac and Bah exchanged puzzled glances, while others were simply and eagerly waiting for him to continue. Jack and Silky had continued about their packing, but even they were deliberately keeping an open ear. Buzz continued deliberately removing his gear.

"Alright, so let's have it," Mac finally bit.

"I ran into this girl, coming back from the equipment room. It looked like she was meeting with Brooks in his office."

"And?" prompted Mac.

"And I ran into her," Buzz said simply. His teammates groaned good-naturedly and threw their towels at him.

"I wonder what Herb's got in store," pondered Bah. "Maybe he's hiring a secretary?"

"Yeah, cause Herb's job sure does require a lot of paperwork to fill," O.C. said sarcastically. "Your head thawed from the ice yet, Bah?"

"So what does she look like?" Ralph Cox asked in effort to prevent another verbal scrimmage. "Does she go to the U as well?"

"Could be," Buzz answered. "I've never seen her around campus before, though." "But, trust me," he grinned, "I would have definitely noticed before if she was."

"She was blonde, huh?" teased Mac.

"Brunette, actually," corrected Buzz. "Not hard on the eyes, either."

"But you can at least look _at_ her, right?" Rizzo jabbed playfully. Buzz's height was often a subject of great teasing.

"Hey, I like tall girls," Buzz countered. "Besides, the taller they are, the better the view," he winked. The comment brought about more laughter and hoots.

"So does this girl have a name?" asked Mark Johnson.

"I didn't get a chance to ask. I wasn't exactly going to wait around with Herb breathing down my neck now, was I?"

"You did manage to get past 'hi' and 'goodbye' though, right?" O.C. smirked. "You can't seriously tell me that you didn't know how to converse with the girl."

"What, and this is an area of your expertise, Boston?" Ralph snorted. "I can't exactly see you charming the socks off a girl when you're dropping your gloves half the time."

"What can I say, they dig the O' Callahan charm," O.C. grinned cockily. "And I'm enough of a gentleman to oblige them."

"Maybe you wouldn't mind giving us a demonstration then," Mac smirked.

"On you?" O.C. jeered. "Sorry, scrawny Minnesotan jocks aren't worth my time."

Their teammates rumbled amusedly at the low blow. Some of them looked on with anticipated glee. Mac seemed unfazed by the remark. "I'm saying maybe we ought to see if you'll have better luck with this girl than Buzz," he said. "You know – let us see if your words are big enough for your mouth."

Mac's proposition brought about even louder rumblings and hoots. "What do you have in mind?" O.C. asked.

"Get the girl smitten by the end of one week, and I'll do all your Herbies for that week," offered Mac. "If I win, you'll do likewise."

O.C. deliberated for a bit. He was pretty sure that the stakes could have involved something more creative and embarrassing, but the Herbies seemed punishable enough. "Deal," he shook Mac's hand. "Oh, and she's has to be truly head-over-heals smitten," added Mac. "No bribes and no favors."

O.C. smirked. "They're not necessary for easy baits."

* * *

Author's Endnote: Auge was supposed to be the character that O.C. had a fit w/ last time. I was originally going to add Jo's scene in this chapter, but as you can already tell, the chapter's long as it is. Stay tuned till then! 


	4. Sometimes, Silence is Golden

Disclaimer: The rights to Miracle belong to Disney and their fellow associates. Blah, blah, blah, ...

Author's note: I could just simply state here that it's been awhile since I've updated. Yeah, finals can kick you real hard in the ass. Once again, thankyou very much for your reviews, and believe it or not I actually had to cut off an additional scene **again**. So onto the chapter! But first...

**Lia06: **_Thankyou very much for all your reviews so far! _

**CandieBaby30: **_Glad to hear that you like it. Yep, a bet it is, and pretty, it isn't going to be._

**Adelyte: **_Why thank you! _

**darkdestiny2000: **_Um...yeah, it definitely won't be. Let's just say Jack's going to find himself in more than what he bargained for._

**vaugnhloveralwaysandforev:** _Well, I can't guarantee that - I'd like to play around the pairing for now. I will say though that Jack is one of my favorite player in the movie. _

**staceygirl: **_Thankyou for your review, but I think you're probably mixing this story with another. I've read that other story, and like it too._

**meadow567: **_Thankyou, and as you can tell, I did take my time. LOL._

**killerkeanegirl: **_Wow, I'm sorta blushing by now. Like I mentioned earlier, can't guarantee you the pairing, but I will try to write it in a way that prompts constant guessing. Try is the key word._

**vickitori: **_I'm glad. Yeah, for now I can't see the players getting too friendly. I can tell you though that an ugly situation is going to fix that pretty quickly._

**CHAPTER THREE**

Unbeknownst of the wager, the victim found herself wandering aimlessly in the pursuit of a payphone for the last seven minutes. The building was designed ridiculously complex, Jo thought, with its random turns and dead-end hallways. She finally spotted a phone at a far end corner and happened to walk towards it when …….

"….. didn't get a chance to ask. I wasn't exactly going to wait around with Herb breathing down my neck now, was I?"

Perhaps it was her suspicious nature or perhaps it was an overcoming sense of deja-vu that brought Jo to a slight pause. Either way, it just seemed too coincidental if she had met him earlier……

"You did manage to get past 'hi' and 'goodbye' though, right?" a different voice spoke. "You can't seriously tell me that you didn't know how to converse with the girl."

"What, and this is an area of your expertise, Boston?" another voice teased. "I can't exactly see you charming the socks off a girl when you're dropping your gloves half the time."

"What can I say, they dig the O' Callahan charm. And I'm enough of a gentleman to oblige them."

_I'm sure they do_ Jo rolled her eyes and continued walking. She could rather hear the smirk in the words as far well as she could envision it.

"Maybe you wouldn't mind giving us a demonstration then," someone taunted.

Jo paused again past the men's locker room. Needless to say, the blatant words were enough to turn her earlier indifference to their conversation into cautious curiosity.

"On you? Sorry, scrawny Minnesotan jocks aren't worth my time."

"I'm saying maybe we ought to see if you'll have better luck with this girl than Buzz," said the same taunting voice. "You know – let us see if your words are big enough for your mouth." Both comments brought about hoots and low rumblings, presumably from a group of jocks.

"What do you have in mind?"

"Get the girl smitten by the end of one week, and I'll do all your Herbies for that week. If I win, you'll do likewise."

If there was any denial regarding to her involvement as their subject, it had just dwindled significantly. A part of her was partially willing to give the benefit of the doubt. The other part, however, couldn't hide the mixed annoyance and disgust at the prospect of the wager.

"Deal."

"Oh, and she's has to be truly head-over-heals smitten," stated one of the jocks. "No bribes and no favors."

"They're not necessary for easy baits."

Not even the concrete walls could contain her overwhelming surge of irritation at that point. Cockiness was a natural masculine fault, but in such crazy stints, it became intolerable. "Not all baits bite, pal," Jo muttered abrasively, continuing towards the phone.

She only prayed that she would sound convincingly cheerful enough to Patty by that time.

* * *

"You're actually going to go through with this?" Jimmy eyed O.C. in flat disbelief. "Maybe you ought to reconsider." 

"Well, wouldn't that be rather disappointing," Mac mocked, clucking his tongue for good measure.

"Relax, Jimmy, it's harmless enough," replied O.C. apathetically.

"I don't know if you've been around women long enough to actually know them, Jack, but harmless is gonna be the last word I would describe _this_. Cause when they find out…"

"_If_ they find out," corrected O.C.

"No, _when_ they find out," Jimmy retorted. "Women get their information one way or another. And assuming that she knows Herb pretty well, you're looking at an early return to Boston."

"You're making too much of Buzz's report," O.C. argued. "Like he said, there are no other relatives nearby, so I doubt she's related. For all we know, this chick was probably running an errand."

Jimmy responded with a derisive snort, but decided to drop the matter. Like with the rest of his teammates, Jack's Irish temper and stubbornness sometimes proved to be too draining. It found itself more than once at odds with the referee's patience.

"I sure hope this chick runs more errands then," Buzz joked lamely.

"Maybe you'll actually get her name during one of them," O.C. smirked as he headed to the showers.

Mac clapped Buzz's shoulder reassuringly. "Don't let him bother ya, Buzzy. He's going to eat his own words."

"You know, Mac," Buzz started hesitantly. "I think I rather stay out of this one."

"It's only a friendly wager," shrugged Mac. "We're not going to exchange fists."

"Maybe not," Buzz acknowledged reluctantly. "But maybe you ought to drop it – drop all of this."

"Look, we're not going to repeat what happened in 76' and that practice," Mac said firmly. "We play for the same team. That doesn't mean we have to get along."

"What team?" Buzz questioned, with an uncharacteristic edge.

Neither Mac nor the others offered any reply or defense. They couldn't. The two simple words invoked far too much truth and insight.

Buzz coughed. "I think I dropped a glove outside." He gave a very poor excuse, but it broke the uncomfortable quiet somewhat. The Minnesotan hastily got up and proceeded to exit ….. only to run into a familiar slender figure. Whether it was a contemplation of fate or not, Buzz felt undeniably elated at the fortunate timing.

"So we meet again," Buzz grinned.

"So we do," she commented lightly, cracking a tentative smile in return.

Their close proximity allowed him to study her features better. Definitely not hard on the eyes, he thought, admiring her facial structures. Before Buzz could decidedly take up on O.C.'s advice, the brunette quickly resumed her long strides. "Are you going to leave me a name?" teased Buzz. "Cause …uh.. these run-ins might happen more often than you think."

The girl peered back and awarded him an amused smile. "Evans," she replied simply.

"Evans," Buzz repeated as she continued walking. "Alright, not that it's necessary to go on a first name basis or anything," he teased.

"Consider it fair exchange," Evans quipped back. "_Schneider_," she added in mock playfulness before rounding the corner. Buzz didn't know how long his foot had been planted to the tiles, but apparently it was long enough for others to notice.

"Not bad, Buzzy," whistled Phil Verchota.

A grinning Mac punched his shoulders. "I think I'm gonna enjoy that break after all."

* * *

Jo found it rather miraculous that she had ever come across the entrance to begin with. Not surprisingly, the additional ten minutes of twists and turns didn't help alleviate her increasing agitation. Only her impatience surpassed her agitated mood, a trait that didn't lessen either with her restless pacing. 

Checking the building clock yet again, she decided to look around. Judging from the hallway's littered displays, hockey was perhaps more of a obsession here than Jo initially perceived it to be. If not an obsession, the sport could be deemed a coveted tradition, though one she could care less for.

Jo nearly passed over a peculiar picture of the 1958 Gophers Hockey Team. Seated on the third row was a tall and younger Herb Brooks himself. Even in photographs, he seemed to exude this boyish charisma that almost dispelled any feelings of resentment – almost dispelled.

* * *

"What's up with you?" Rizzo asked. 

O.C. cast a wary glance at a trailing Mac. "He didn't happen to wander near my stuff, did he?"

"Just a little paranoid, aren't you?" Rizzo nudged him.

"Just a little," O.C. replied, rolling his eyes. "You want to tell me why he has this smirk on his face?"

"It's nothing to get worked up about," said Silky.

Rizzo opened his mouth to speak, only to be cut off by Silky's silent warning. After Buzz's run-in, Mac had cleverly gotten the team's agreement to not interfere with the bet. Thus, O.C. remained clueless on Buzz's partial success. Still, Mac didn't take the pains to hide his enthusiasm as they walked.

"This is different," insisted O.C. "I may not have a psychiatry degree, but my sixth sense has never failed me before – he's up to something."

"You're that easily affected by him, huh?" Silky winked suggestively.

"Course not," scoffed O.C. He said nothing more but didn't miss the exchange of grins from both friends.

"Hey Rizzo!" Mac called out, brandishing off a baseball. "A few of the guys are heading out later for some ball. Want to join?"

The idea sounded appealing, and Rizzo genuinely liked Mac. He glanced apprehensively at O.C. and Silk. Mac must have understood very clearly, for he added with less enthusiasm, "We could use a couple of Boston boys too."

"Sounds good," said Rizzo, still glancing.

"Baseball's not my thing, thanks" O.C. smiled tightly. "But," he shrugged at Rizzo, "don't let me spoil your fun."

Without waiting for a response, O.C. turned and walked off. Silky and Rizzo both looked on in annoyed resignation. They were well acquainted with his dismissive behavior, but even that began to wear thin for some time. Luckily, he managed to control his temperament, though more forcibly as Bah made a less than pleasing comment.

"You guys hungry?" asked Mac a bit loudly. "Cause I'm thinking of going for some _chicken_." To say that he felt satisfied upon Jack's pause was an understatement.

O.C. smirked. "That's really cute, Maclanahan – actually going after me with preschool insults."

"They seem to work fine on you."

O.C.'s smirk slipped a notch. "I guess I shouldn't be too surprised, coming from an underdeveloped boy yourself. Let me know when you come up with better material." O.C. turned and continued off quickly before falling prey to a violent temptation.

"O.C.!"

He tightened his grip around the duffel bag and ignored Mac. _Just fifteen more feet_. Immediately, his instinctive reflex kicked in time to grasp the incoming ball. O.C. wanted nothing more than at that point to wipe the smug off Mac's face. The ball looked like a good tool to start with.

"At least you can catch," he commented.

"Let's see if you can fetch," said O.C.

And using the amount of force he felt appropriate to harness on Mac, he turned and pitched the ball down the hallway away from his intended target …to an unexpected target.

Author's Postnote: It's gonna be a pretty bad day for Jack. Stay tune and find out why! Also on another note, I am aware that I've portrayed Jack perhaps a little more aggressive than what he is in the movie. He won't always be like that in future chapters.


	5. All Things Come in Three

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Miracle, blah blah blah...

**Author's note:** I hit a dry spell with this chapter for a while, on top of being sick. Thanks for your reviews again and onto the chapter!

**CHAPTER FOUR**

Hasty actions made out of temperaments inevitably come with a price. The price, to O.C.'s dismay, came too soon and in the form of a tall, angrily breathing woman. Jo had fortunately dodged out of the ball's way, spilling her books and bag contents in the process. The shock, however, hadn't quite worn off for either one of them. Jo mentally noted to herself to avoid sharp corners and wide arch doors in the future.

In the midst of the discomfited silence, she managed to shake off some of the numbness to retrieve the ball. "Yours, I presume?" said Jo, her voice cracking slightly.

O.C. deftly caught her purposely gentle throw, as if she was sarcastically demonstrating to him the proper technique. "No," he replied immediately.

"I mean – it looks that way," O.C. raised his hands impulsively at Jo's dubious gaze. "It's not my ball!"

He cringed at how childishly defensive his words sounded. Judging from her increasingly piercing gaze, she wasn't buying it either. O.C. turned back slightly to catch a glimpse of his teammates' reactions. Not surprisingly, Mac appeared the least sympathetic of all with a somewhat mischievous glint in his eyes. And then he remembered. _Mac_ O.C. scorned.

Without hesitation, O.C. quickly got rid of the ball, though perhaps tossing a bit roughly to Mac. Ironically, the action only left him more uncomfortable as his hands felt unaccustomed to empty space. His accuser's eyes of course weren't exactly improving matters either. So out of familiar anxious habit, he began to rub his palms and knuckles. At the same time, O.C. felt an urgency to deal with the delicate situation in the calmest (and least embarrassing) manner.

"Guess I should have aimed for off-field," O.C. remarked lightly. Humor was usually a good reliever of tension.

Jo's mouth twitched slightly. "Yeah," her voice dripped with sarcasm.

_Guess not._

"Good reflexes though."

Jo bit her bottom lip and bent down to gather her books. If the guy was attempting to placate the situation, he had just about the skill of Richard Nixon. Regardless, Jo learned enough from past confrontational experiences to maintain a cool, level-headed composure. Anger never lead to productive results, but it certainly had no bounds at the moment. So focused on her thoughts and task at hand, she didn't notice that O.C. had silently come to her aide.

"You're a physics major?" he skimmed some of the titles.

"Nope, but I got a good demonstration of it anyway," replied Jo.

Jo reached out to grab another book, but O.C. beat her to the chase and handed it readily. "Thanks," she said reluctantly.

She quickly averted her eyes to bag, pretending to shuffle and arrange her books. Sensing her need for space, O.C. stood up and backed away. It was hard _not_ to study her. Tall and slender, the chick came up to about 5' 7" and radiated casual confidence with every movement. Her attractive face, of course, wasn't lost upon him either, but her sharp, autumn-colored eyes mostly held his attention.

"Here, I think this anchor belongs to you," Rizzo grunted mockingly.

Try as she might, Jo couldn't help cracking a grin at him as he handed her a large textbook. "You're not much of an excuse for a man, then."

Chuckles erupted around. Rizzo dramatically acted out an arrow aiming at his heart. "Bullseye!" he groaned. "But, if you're insulting me, you're insulting every guy here. You happen to be squatting in the arena of the manliest of all sports."

"Is that a fact?"

"That and we just happen to be the best of the best," said Rizzo. He extended out a hand. "Mike Eruizione. And you are?"

"Evans," Buzz answered for Jo as he approached the group. "Just plain Evans," winked Buzz knowingly.

"I don't think you're plain," smiled Rizzo.

"I hope that's not your best pick up line," Jo remarked. But women generally (and secretly) felt pleased at any paid complements. The evidence became all too evident as the red tinge began to travel up her neck. The effect seemed all the more pronounced in the presence of cute guys.

"Nope, that stuff's best left to him," Mac patted O.C. shoulder. "O' Callahan's not much of a baseball player but his charm is irresistible."

O.C. brusquely shrugged off his hand, adding his own glare to match. Comprehension came to Jo in a brisk and thoroughly unpleasant form. She didn't really know where the headache began and where it ended, but Jo didn't need to look further for the cause. Her face appeared to contort between several emotions before settling on unhappy.

"The quality shows," said Jo acidly.

O.C. tiredly ran a hand through his hair. "Did I mention how very, very sorry I was – am?"

"Must have slipped my mind," Jo replied dryly. She stood up and reached down to zip her bag.

"You do know it wasn't intentional," he tried apologizing again.

"We were clowning around a bit," supplied Rizo.

"You're not really helping," said O.C. through clenched teeth. Rizzo threw up his arms defensively.

O.C. decided to attempt introductions. "Jack O' Callahan."

Jo looked at him in a certain way that spoke out _"Are you kidding me?"_ She slowly brought up her hand and leaned forward….only to reach past his offered hand and picked up her bag. "Good to know," she said and walked off.

"How so?" asked O.C., trying to catch up.

"I know where to send my future med bill."

"Hey, I don't really look loaded," O.C. joked. "I'm just a hockey player from Charleston, Mass. who came to Minnesota to play for the Olympic team. And who also happens to be extremely sorry, and more importantly, just as broke."

Jo paused at the front doors. She raised her eyebrow skeptically, but he had her effectively curious. "C'mon, you're making it hard for a guy to apologize," he teased. "I didn't fracture your pretty head. Maybe a chipped nail, but not your head."

A smile slowly began to tug at Jo's right corner of her lips. After excruciating moments, she replied, "Alright, apology accepted."

"Now that wasn't so bad, was it?" O.C. coaxed.

Jo sent him an annoyed glance as she pushed the doors open. "However," he continued, "I think maybe a drink or two might be in order."

"I thought you were broke?" she clarified.

"Had to get your attention somehow," O.C. smirked. "I decided to give sympathy a try. And low and behold, it exceeded my far expectations."

As angry as Jo wanted to be at the guy, she didn't find herself altogether hating him. He was undeniably cocky, probably even pretentious if given the chance. However, his roguish charm did more than compensate at times. It may have helped him in critical times, but she wasn't about to let him off that easy. As she peered at the clock over O.C.'s shoulder, an idea immediately started to form. It required perfect timing and his involuntary contribution, but the plan had potential.

"The offer still stands," said O.C.

"I think I'd rather not risk anymore injury."

"Hockey player," he reminded her. "Not baseball. The only way I could injure you is if I had on a pair of skates and a stick. Toss in a puck, and it should get interesting."

Jo was not only surprised at how well her little scheme was progressing but also how fast he had reached the trigger of its portion. Too fast, in fact. She needed to buy some time. Jo tapped her fingers and tried to appear as if she were deliberating.

"It's either a simple yes or no," said O.C. forty seconds later. "Besides, the company's not all that bad."

She didn't look entirely convinced. "Hockey player, huh?"

"If you want to believe."

"Are you any good?"

"Very," he grinned. "Much better on the ice than on the field, anyway. But if you're not convinced …."

"You better hope so," quipped Jo. "Otherwise, I might think your coach was off his rockers."

"That's accurate enough," snorted O.C. "The man's really obsessed and fully possessed."

"That's a bit harsh."

"Compared to everything else, that's actually tame," he dismissed. "Perfectionist, Anarchist, Slave-driver – just to name a few. If Brooks doesn't kill you in the end, he'd at least wear you down by the end of the day."

"Anything else you'd like to add?"

O.C. froze immediately at the new voice as the shock settled in. Embarrassment, though not as apparent, was thoroughly felt. As far as he could tell, the day didn't and couldn't look to get any worse than now. Herb Brooks had a methodical way of dealing with things, to say the least.

Herb peered from Jo to O.C. and back. "You two know each other?"

"We were working on it," replied Jo.

"You're working on it very closely," Herb observed.

"Fatherly concern does show up at convenient times," Jo smiled humorlessly.

The edgy tone, to her satisfaction, acted out like a double edge sword. It touched a guilt-stricken nerve of Herb's while fueling the shock of O' Callahan and the rest. It was a shamelessly low move on her part – one she probably wouldn't take pride in later. But then bitter people rarely consider the future impacts of their action over their immediate rewards.

"Jo, why don't you wait outside," suggested Herb calmly.

Jo exhaled quietly and smiled apologetically at O.C. "I'm gonna take a rain check on that."

"Oh, and," she paused halfway out, "you might want to pick your words better next time. Some of them aren't _big enough for your mouth_."

With a last glimpse of O.C.'s shocked face, Jo soundlessly left. It took maybe a moment or two, but he caught on, all right. Thankfully, Herb remained clueless of the words' implication. On one hand, he felt embarrassed and somewhat humiliated about her audacity. On the other hand, he had to admire her tough exterior. It reminded him keenly of someone.

Herb patted O.C.'s arm. "Get a good night's rest, Jack," he said evenly. His eyes, though, promised something other than kindness to the wish. After Herb left, O.C. continued to remain rooted to the floor in utter disbelief.

Rizzo cautiously approached his friend. "Who would have thought, huh?" he jabbed him playfully. "She sure doesn't take after him in looks."

"Sure as hell inherited everything else," O.C. said bitterly.

* * *

"C'mon!" Herb honked impatiently. 

Signs of the afternoon traffic were inescapable. Jo had occupied herself for majority of the time by gazing boringly out of window, shifting uncomfortably against the sticky nylon now and then. The view didn't offer much – just rows and rows of dully colored cars surrounded by trees. Still, she welcomed any form of distraction from the upcoming dinner and the previous incident.

"So how about it?"

Jo snapped out of her reverie. "What?"

"The campus?" repeated Herb. "You finding everything alright?"

"Yeah," Jo replied. "Just peachy."

And just like their other conversations, the silence seeped back in. Jo clenched her fists in frustration. The old routine felt like a stonecutter chipping away at foundation, deepening and spreading the cracks further with each impact. It was about damn time to cement them.

"The map came in handy," Jo added.

Herb blanked out momentarily before recovering with a wide smile. "Good! I..uh…you know…figured with a big campus, it couldn't hurt. Not that it's changed much, but I wound up lost several times even to .."

"Herb, just say 'you're welcome'," interrupted Jo. But she returned the smile.

Herb chuckled, only to be jolted by a loud honk from the car behind. Traffic began to pick up, and the rest of the drive proceeded smoothly.

"Is there anything I should know about Dan and Kelley?" Jo asked.

"Just the things to know about regular kids," said Herb. "And that Dan's one heck of a pitcher and Kelly loves ballet."

"No hockey?" teased Jo. "Kids are rebelling earlier these days."

"Minnesotan hockey is different." Herb waved his hand dismissively. "Everyone knows how to play the game regardless if you love it or not. Here, we learn to skate before we learn to walk."

"So it's better to risk a newborn falling on ice than on carpet?" Jo raised a brow. It came out sounding like a comment than a question, and all the more apparent with a head tilt. "Fascinating – Minnesotan logic."

* * *

Before Jo had realized it, they were making their way up the driveway. It was a simple house, she noted, accompanied with an expansive front yard and garden. Herb pulled out his key and managed to get it halfway to the keyhole before the door budged backwards. 

"Thirty minutes, huh?"

Herb grinned sheepishly. "And maybe twenty more?"

Patty shook her head amusedly and kissed him on the cheek. She turned to Jo. "You'll have to excuse me if I say that men have no sense of timing. It's good to see you again!"

"It's good to see you too," said Jo as she was swept in a hug that left her both surprised and slightly out of breath.

"Well, come in! Both of you!" Patty rushed them the doorway. "The kids are practically starving."

In a coordinated fashion, Dan and Kelly both got up from the couch to meet their guest. Their son easily resembled Herb from his blue eyes to his easy manners. Kelly shared her brother's eyes but had Patty's blonde locks. Next to Dan, she appeared stiff and more painfully apprehensive. No smile graced her lips, and her displeasure at the visit was easily traced around the tight contours of her face.

Jo shot what she hoped was a friendly smile. "Hi," she raised her hand in a handshake gesture.

Kelly peered at the hand as if it threatened of disease. Her eyes traveled further south. "Are you a punk?" she asked incredulously.

"Kelly!" exclaimed Patty.

"Mom, she has a ring on her belly button," defended her daughter. "I was just curious."

"Why don't you help me get the food," Patty said in a tightly sweet voice.

Jo miraculously had held on to her smile during the whole exchange, but it seemed rather strained. Herb looked too stumped for a response.

"She gets grumpy when she's hungry," explained Dan.

* * *

Beth's evening started out well enough. Normally, a late dinner followed by a shower and some light reading didn't constitute as a fun Friday night, but it was relaxing nonetheless. And yet, her attention didn't seem quite as devoted to her book as to the door. Anticipation became her interfering companion till Jo's arrival. 

"Hey," mumbled Jo, dropping her book bag. "No wild parties?"

Beth shrugged. "My definition of a good time is a bit more sophisticated."

"Conservative might be the better word." Jo nodded pointedly at her roommate's state.

"You should take that into mind the next time you dress," said Beth, flipping a page.

While Jo enjoyed their occasional verbal spar, she simply didn't have the energy to retort back. Or at least that was her excuse. Within five staggering steps, she fell into the blessed warmth of her bed. With some ounce of remaining strength, she managed to kick off her shoes and pulled the covers snugly around her. Jo might have fallen asleep earlier if her friend had been more adept at feigning interest in her book.

Jo yawned. "You can stop pretending," she said and turned away.

"Pretending what? I am reading."

"You have interesting choices for material then. I didn't think anyone could be so fascinated with George Orwell in the wee hours of the night."

Beth rolled her eyes and closed her book. "Class assignment. Roberts wants us to compare and contrast Orwell's vision of 1984 to today's political landscape – five pages, single spaced."

"And that is why I avoid enthusiastic professors," professed Jo, as she stifled another yawn.

Beth didn't respond. She did, though, take her sweet time in taking off her reading glasses and preparing for bed. "How was the dinner?" Beth asked as casually as she could muster. It hadn't taken much for her to gather that Herb Brooks was a sensitive issue.

Sure enough, the steady rise and fall of Jo's chest stilled. And though Beth couldn't make out her facial reaction, her friend's stiffened back expressed enough. Jo blew air through her teeth. Inwardly, Jo had anticipated that Beth would come to inquire her night. Curiosity was about the only thing – annoying thing – that came naturally to journalists. Being evasive only fed their appetite for answers and satisfying them would be telling too much.

How was dinner? The meal itself was delicious. But even its aroma was hard to savor in the quiet domestic hell. Dry one-syllable answers pretty much dictated the flow of conversation, or rather fractured it. Dan and Kelly picked at their food constantly. For a ten year old, Kelly displayed an impressive vocabulary that she had no hesitation in directing to Jo a few times. The impression certainly wasn't lost on Patty, clean as the words may be. Jo suspected that Patty made that very clear during their brief disappearance to gather cold ice cream. Quite an ironic symbol for the evening.

"Dessert was the best part."

**Author's Endnote: **As a warning, future chapters will be intense.


End file.
